Is this a date?
by slowroad
Summary: It is two months since Sherlock has come back from pretending to be dead. There has been a clear shift in his relationship with John. But neither of them has said anything. Sherlock takes John out to dinner. Is it a date? John is not sure. But Sherlock seems to behaving like it is...


Disclaimer: These wonderful characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and in this version to Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss (bless them).

...

It was a Friday evening. John had just finished his shift at the clinic and he was getting ready to leave when his phone beeped.

Come home soon. We have to go out. SH

Case? JW

No. SH

Then where? JW

Just get home. SH

Alright. I'm leaving. JW

He was almost at the door when he heard Sarah calling. They had stayed friends despite the complete failure of their relationship.

"Elaine and I are going to the pub. Join us?"

"No, sorry. I have to get home. Sherlock's waiting."

"Ah! Can't keep the boyfriend waiting now, can we?" said Elaine as she walked up.

"He's not my boyfriend." John said.

"Of course not." said Sarah biting back a smile.

"Yeah. You keep telling your-self that," Elaine said with a smirk.

Nothing that he could say would ever convince them, or anyone else, for that matter. He was past caring, really. If he protested now, it was more out of habit than anything else.

It was around six thirty when John got home. He'd been expecting to find Sherlock dressed and ready to go. But he was lying on the couch, languid as ever, lost in thought. He looked up when John walked in and smiled. It was one of his rare, genuine smiles. He really looked as if he was just glad to have John home…it made John feel warm and special and suddenly very happy with his life.

He took off his coat and said, "I thought we had to go someplace."

"Oh we do. But we have some time. We don't have to leave until eight at least."

"Tea?" said John as he walked into the kitchen. Sherlock nodded.

"So, where are we going?"

"Mon Plaisir"

"Really? Isn't that a bit out of the way?"

"Yes. But it's a long time since I was there and I have some good memories of the place."

"Any particular reason?"

"Do I need a reason to take you out to dinner?"

"No, I guess." John said as he poured out the tea and handed it to his friend. They sat at the table in the kitchen and John couldn't help but wonder what was going on. Sherlock had that look on his face, a gleam in his eyes that said he was up to something. What though?

He finished his tea quietly, and went up to take a shower. He'd had a busy day at the clinic and he was stiff and a bit tense. A long, hot shower later, he emerged, towel in hand, drying his hair, wondering what to wear.

This wasn't something that he thought about unless he was going on a date..._Okay what was that? Is this a date? No. Sherlock doesn't date. He doesn't do relationships. We go out for dinner three times a week. This is the same. So why does it feel different?_

_There's nothing different about tonight. I'm just reading too much into it_, he told himself. And if he spent more time choosing his clothes and getting dressed, than he usually did, he was not about to admit it.

He decided against his usual jeans-shirt-jumper combination. He stood in front of his closet, frowning and thinking, until he pulled out a shirt that he hadn't worn ever, really. It was a gift from Harry...it was a deep red, the colour of a good burgundy, and a touch tighter than he liked. Harry had insisted that it was good colour on him. He hadn't listened so far, but well, why not?

Add a pair of black trousers and a jacket and he was set. The trousers and the jacket were both a few years old. They were still in good condition, but they had been picked out for a younger man. They still fit, but they fit snugger and tighter than John was used to. He didn't realise it, but the clothes accentuated his muscled frame in a way that was quite delectable, or so Sherlock thought when he saw him come down the stairs.

Sherlock was dressed impeccably as usual. John couldn't help but stare at him wondering how he managed to look that young and that good all the time.

"You're staring, John"

"Well of course I am. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. Sherlock looked at him with a knowing smirk on his face and John flushed wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Let's go, shall we?" said Sherlock reaching for his coat.

It took them about half an hour to get to the restaurant. Sherlock got out of the cab and held his hand out..._this is definitely not normal,_thought John_..._as he took his friend's hand and let himself be led into the restaurant.

Mon Plaisir is the oldest French restaurant in London. And the food is supposed to be superb. John had never been there before and he looked around curiously while Sherlock led him in. He had apparently called ahead and made a reservation.

They were seated in a quiet little corner and John took a moment to look at Sherlock before he picked up his menu...he had intended it to be only a moment...but Sherlock looked back at him and John saw the same something in his eyes that he had noticed earlier.

There was a fondness there, a tenderness combined with mischief and laughter, like Sherlock knew something that John didn't. What was happening? This was no ordinary evening out. That usually meant Angelo's or the Chinese place down the street. It didn't involve making reservations or going half way across town to a cosy French restaurant.

Before he could think about it any further, the waiter appeared with a candle, as usual. It seemed they could not dine anywhere without being offered a candle to make the meal more romantic. John would protest every single time. But now he just smiled at the waiter and ordered.

"You didn't protest." Sherlock commented.

Of course he would notice. "I don't see the need to protest. It really doesn't matter"

"Hmmm...Interesting." Sherlock said and smiled. He looked at John, his eyes moving over him, lingering on his lips and his eyes and his neck and his shoulders...smirking when John started to blush.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" John demanded, getting redder by the minute.

"You dressed up for me." Sherlock said, smiling wickedly.

John got even redder at that and he was going to protest when he saw with a sudden clarity, exactly what was going on. It had only been two months since Sherlock had come back after pretending to be dead for a whole year.

A year in which John had realised just how much he loved Sherlock and how badly he wanted him. He hadn't said anything about it, but he saw everyday that something in their relationship was different. It seemed that Sherlock had noticed too. And instead of talking to John about it, he was simply acting on it. This was very much a date.

_Well, two can play at a game_, he thought and so he reached out and took Sherlock's hand. He saw a flicker of surprise in his friend's eyes.

He smiled and said, "Okay. So I did. You offered to take me out. It was the least I could do. It seems you like it."

"Oh yes I do. You look quite delectable."

"Thank you."

Sherlock looked like he was going to say something more when the waiter arrived with their food and wine.

They ate in silence for a bit and then,

"When did you last go out on a date, John?"

"I don't remember. I didn't date at all in the year that you were gone and I was hardly dating even before that."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why aren't you dating anymore?"

John could see where this was headed, so he didn't answer immediately. He pretended to think and then, "Maybe I'm not interested anymore" he offered with a smirk.

"Not interested in dating or not interested in women?"

"Oh I'm interested in dating, alright"

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up at that and he seemed to be considering what to say next.

"Right. So, what happened to 'I'm not gay'?"

"The same thing that happened to 'I'm married to my work', I guess."

He smiled at that. "Well in that case, John I would very much like to date you."

"I would like to date you too, but I thought you didn't do relationships."

"I don't. But you, it seems, are an exception to all my rules." Sherlock said and then he took John's hand and kissed it lightly as he ran his eyes all over him. John felt his heart rate go up. He tried to look nonchalant but that was hard considering that Sherlock was looking at him like he wanted to eat him.

"I know what I want for dessert, John. So... shall we go home?"

John blushed a very bright red and said "You are a wicked man, Sherlock."

"And you love me for it."

"God help me, I do."

...

Fin


End file.
